


Fear Toxin? Did you mean: weak sauce ?

by CheetahLeopard2



Series: Your favs have Psychosis [12]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Dick Grayson Tries to Be a Good Older Sibling, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Paranoia, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU), Schizophrenia, Schizophrenic Tim Drake, Tim Drake is So Done, Tim Drake-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:53:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28085742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheetahLeopard2/pseuds/CheetahLeopard2
Summary: Tim's used to hallucinating, used to random boughts of paranoia. He's schizophrenic, and quite frankly fear gas is usually nothing against someone who's been differentiating between 'real' and 'hallucinated' as far as he can remember.(written by a schizaffective author)
Relationships: Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Series: Your favs have Psychosis [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1024617
Comments: 40
Kudos: 390





	1. 5- A want for affection

**Author's Note:**

> I'm schizoaffective, and basing Tim's symptoms on mine. Any needless hate will be deleted without reply

5

Tim’s having a shit day.

There’s no getting around it. He woke up with a dry mouth and faintly pounding head and a flat, rhythmic beeping that he takes too long to realize is not actually his phone, and won’t stop no matter now many times he taps at the screen with cracked eyes and blurry vision.

He went to class with the beeping at a low-level enough volume not to be distracting, but just echo-y enough that he doesn’t hear the fire alarm going off until he sees it flashing.

And to top it off, his eyes have moments where they’ll randomly go out-of-focus and he has to concentrate for a moment to see again. He’s also _really_ starting to feel the exhaustion that comes with having slept, but not _well._

Which means, of course, when he gets back to his apartment he crashes straight into bed.

And, of course, is woken up after a measly 40 minutes by his phone actually beeping. And buzzing.

With a groan, Tim levers himself up and into sitting position, groping around for his phone and only opening his eyes when he’s found it.

“BM AGAINST SCARECROW, [address]. RR ONLY BACKUP IN RANGE.” the screen screams at him when he opens the alert.

“Shit,” Tim swears under his breath, he doesn’t have the energy for this today.

He suits up and heads out, opening a com line to Oracle and listening with half an ear as she gives him a rundown of the situation.

It’s Batman against Scarecrow right now, with only a few goons. All are armed with aerosol-type cans of fear gas. Batman has yet to be hit, though his rebreather is gone.

Tim arrives at the roof of the warehouse, quickly taking stock of the situation. Batman is facing off against the goons, back to a large crate, and it’s taking more effort than usual by virtue of having to distance himself everytime a can is sprayed. Each goon has on a heavy-duty gas mask.

He’s lost track of Scarecrow, who’s got a couple cans in each hand and is creeping behind the crate. Tim can see what’s going to happen a second before it does, and he leaps into action.

“B, catch!” he shouts, tossing his fresh rebreather to Batman as he swings down feet-first into Scarecrow’s chest, getting a faceful of the gas as he goes.

It seems to be a weak strain, made even less effective by how Tim effectively just flow through it and dispersed everything but the initial inhale, and all it does is make Tim’s heartrate kick up a bit, and his current hallucinations grow stronger.

The beeping in his ears is now a high-pitched scream that gets louder at random intervals, and there are small white balls of light floating around. Somewhere behind him, it sounds like Janet Drake harshly barks his name.

He’s able to brush it off and zip-tie Scarecrow easily enough, though when he stands up his eyes unfocus again and he gets light-headed enough that he decides it’s fine to sit down a moment longer.

“Scarecrow subdued, RR has been gassed. Is GCPD on the way?” Batman’s harsh voice growls through the coms, and Tim turns his head towards his imposing figure.

An affirmation comes from Oracle, and Batman grunts, “I’m bringing RR back to the cave, we need to synthesize a fresh antidote.”

Tim stares silently as Batman lowers himself in front of him, reaching with gentle hands to grab his shoulders.

“I’m fine, B,” Tim tries to say, but his eyes still won’t focus and his words are slightly slurred from the physical effects of the gas, so it comes out more as, “’m f’rn, Beh.”

Batman gently shushes him and hooks one arm under Tim’s legs, the other around his back, and hoists him up against his chest. Bruce is warm, and Tim can hear his heart _thud-thud_ ding in his chest, and Tim’s still exhausted. He lets himself fade into a dulled sense of not-quite consciousness as the scream gets louder again, joined by a muffled echo of what sounds like distant arguing of his parents. His eyes slide shut, white balls still drifting across his eyelids.

Batman’s rhythmic steps are replaced by the thrum of the Batmobile beneath him, and time blurs together a bit before the thrum stops. Tim makes a noise of discontent at that, opening his eyes a crack as the door to his side opens.

This time, it’s Dick’s unmasked face looking down at him, face scrunched in concern as he’s bundled in Dick’s arms, head pillowed on his shoulder. His brain’s still foggy, the swaying of his body with Dick’s every step not helping much. He lets the piercing whistling that’s replaced the screams blend with the random snitches of harsh-toned arguing as they bounce around half-in, half-out of his brain, washing over him without effect. There are fewer visual things now, though he still has to concentrate to get his eyes in focus for more than a few seconds.

His mind clears enough that the whistling hurts his ears, and the throbbing behind his eyes makes itself known. He whimpers as his un-dulled senses begin to overload, and Dick makes a soft cooing noise, whispering reassurances in his ear.

The real sound makes it easier to ignore the hallucinations, and Tim would be lying if he hasn’t been starved for affection- both in a general sense and in the sense of _he misses having a big brother care for him_. So when Dick moves to set him down Tim bundles his fist in Dick’s shirt, turning to press his pounding head harder into his shoulder.

Dick lets out a surprised, almost sad, “Oh, Timmy.” And then he holds him tighter, sitting on a cot in the medbay and fully enveloping Tim in a hug.

Something inside Tim settles at the affection, giving him the strength to whisper, “Dick?”

Dick starts cording a hand through Tim’s hair, “Shh little brother, it’s not real.”

Tim lets out a derisive huff at that, he’s been dealing with hallucinations as far back as he can remember, of course it’s not _real._

Still… he missed this. Simple affection freely given by his family. It’s enough to remind him that Dick _does_ love him. That he’s trying.

It’s enough that he relaxes, and lets his brother reassure him. Lets himself accept affection that he’s been starved for.

Bruce grasps his arm so gently when he administers the antidote, brushes Tim’s hair away from his eyes. It does nothing for his fatigue, doesn’t do much for the hallucinations beyond lowing the volume and intensity, reduces the pounding behind his eyes.

“How’re you feeling, chum?” he asks, gaze unwavering but worried, and Tim remembers how it is to have a good father.

“There’s screaming,” he admits around the lump in his throat, “the Drakes arguing in the distance. A few balls of light.”

 _“Nothing more than a usual bad day,”_ he doesn’t admit, lets them think it’s the remnants of fear.

It still loosens his chest, just a bit.


	2. 4- Paranoia (aka if synthetic Fear doesn't effect you, homemade is fine)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim gets gassed when already paranoid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy

4

Tim’s paranoid.

He knows he is, knows how to differentiate from internal Fear and when there’s a real threat.

Doesn’t make the paranoia any less effective.

Jason takes one look at him and raises an eyebrow, “An’ wha’s wrong with you?” he asks casually, leaning against the side of the access stairwell to the roof they’re on.

‘Them’ being Jason, Steph, Cass, and him, (no one else. No one but them) about to go meet up with Robin and Nightwing.

Tim shrugs, equally as casual with a tight smile, a fake chuckle, “A bit paranoid.”

“It’s not paranoia when they’re really out to get you,” Steph says jovially, idly messing with her gloves.

Tim shrugs, eyes trained on Jason- the way his jaw tightened for half a moment in understanding and worry.

He’s the only one who knows about Tim’s diagnosis, was the one to help check him into and out of a hospital outside of gotham discreetly about half a year after brucequest. Was the one there when Tim got an official diagnosis confirming what he already knew, and was still devastated by.

Their relationship is still settling, somewhere between friends and allies and partners, whatever that means for them. Brothers was never an option.

There’s something bubbling and simmering in Tim’s chest at Jason’s worry. How it’s not overbearing or controlling but real and considering all the same.

Cass looks over him with consideration, just as Steph presses a finger to the com in her ear, “Got the signal, let’s go.”

She hops off the roof without fanfare, and Jason pushes off the wall to follow her, hand brushing across Tim’s shoulder along the way, a quiet reassurance.

Cass regards Tim for another moment, and Tim doesn’t move but for the shaking of his fingers, “There’s a threat,” Cass finally says, sounding confused, “Where?”

Tim shakes his head, “Just in my mind, Cass. Don’t worry.” He smiles at his favorite sister, pouring as much reassurance into the lines of his body as he can. She nods in understanding.

“You are scared. Ov-er-thinking.” she stutters over the word a bit, and Tim’s throat seizes a bit in sympathy. He rarely goes nonverbal, but knows enough of the feeling coming out of it that it’s a hard word to force out.

He appreciates the effort, because she’s making it for herself rather than to look better or kinder, or even to conform. If she wants to sign she does, and Tim admires her for that, for not hiding her disability for the comfort of others.

If only he could do the same.

He swallows his sudden rush of hot shame, reminds himself firmly that he has no obligation to share his personal medical information, especially when it’s not relevant to the mission.

Cass makes a high-pitched noise, chiding, “Doing it again.”

“Thank you, Black Bat.” And he means it, “Let’s go.”

She looks him over once more before nodding, “You know your boundaries, Little Brother.” She follows the others, leaving Tim alone on the roof.

He feels the prickle of a stare on the back of his neck, quickly checks around. There aren’t even any ninja following him, not after his minor showdown with Ra’s a few nights ago.

One breath in, two. A third as he attempts to ward back the band tightening in his chest.

He leaps off the roof.

Jason’s the first to realize, when they’re in the warehouse fighting through goons.

“It’s a trap!” he shouts, and Tim can feel his eyes meet his even through mask and helmet, wild with worry, “Fear gas!”

But that warning is the moment of undoing, because in Tim’s distraction a goon manages to spray him directly in the face, right as he took a breath.

Everyone pauses for a moment, before the bats start fighting twice as hard, trying to get across the warehouse to him. Jason reaches for his guns loaded with real bullets, and Tim remembers he knows.

He knows Tim doesn’t usually react to fear gas except physically, and he knows that Tim hasn’t been gassed while already on his brain’s own special brand of Fear.

But Tim?‌ He does a quick self assessment, eyeing the goons still around him. His heartrate’s the same, the feeling of being watched and _hunted_ still there, but the Fear? Is gone. All that’s left is his pounding heart, measured breaths, and hypervigilance.

Tim’s lips curl into a cruel smirk, and he stands tall, twirling his bo around him with a cackle, high and loud and just a bit closer to manic than he usually allows.

It echoes eerily around the warehouse, unsettling friend and foe alike.

He doesn’t waste time, taking out the first goon before him. The second, third, fourth all down before anyone realizes what’s happening.

Tim becomes a whirlwind of calculated violence, a one-man army.

He takes out Scarecrow himself with extreme prejudice, standing with heaving shoulders over the unconscious rouge, before turning to his family, grin stained with blood dripping from a cut in his lip.

They stare at him with varying levels of shock and fear, and it takes a moment of Tim regarding them for him to realize they think he’s fighting imaginary foe.

Jason steps forward, “if yer not trapped in a hallucination say ‘Fuck Nightwing.’.”

“Hey!” Dick protests, as Tim blinks.

“Wow, fuck Nightwing I guess.”

Everyone but Jason freezes, blinking at him in bewilderment.

‌“Red Robin,”‌ Batman says, a tone gentler than his usual growl, “Report.”

Tim salutes mockingly, “My heart might actually beat out of my chest,” he says, breath still coming short, before he crumples to the ground.

Tim comes to in his own bed, surprisingly enough. He was sure he’s be in the cave for examination. He tries to sit up, only for a large, warm hand flat against his chest to push him down again.

“Easy there, baby bird,” Jason says, amusement coloring his tone as Tim looks up the arm to Jason’s amused face, lined with exhaustion.

When was the last time someone casually touched him, without intent to hurt?

Tim can’t remember, and is slapped by the realization that’s probably why he got paranoid in the first place.

“What happened?” he groans, instead of confronting that.

“Got ya to the cave, got th’ antidote synthasized an’ admin’stered. You woke up just long enough to take my side in takin’ ya out of the cave, n now we’re at th’ Nest,” Jason summarizes.

“Alright,” Tim says, falling back into exhaustion and ignoring the faint ringing in the distance.

“I ‘xpect a rundown when ya wake up,” Jason grumbles, but his knuckles dragging gently across Tim’s cheek betray him.

Tim smile, tilts his head enough to kiss the inside of Jason’s wrist, “will do,” he murmurs against the soft skin, and everything fades back into the haze of sleep.

He’s safe with Jason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are why I continued this <3
> 
> Would y'all be interested in a spin-off of Jason and Tim's relationship growing as Jason helps Tim with his diagnosis and Tim helps Jason realize help (esp from professionals) isn't weakness?? Lmk

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment!!


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